


Entregarme

by a_big_apple, bob_fish, skydark



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Comedy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_big_apple/pseuds/a_big_apple, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bob_fish/pseuds/bob_fish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/skydark/pseuds/skydark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to the Central City Charity Dance-off. Where Roy sees an opportunity to take his relationship with Ed public via a classy tango, Ed sees an exciting new venue for brotherly oneupmanship. Will Ed invent breakdancing several decades too early? Will Roy's back survive the experience? How itchy can Riza's trigger finger possibly get? Join us for an epic tale of determination, sweat and very frilly shirts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in [](http://sky-dark.livejournal.com/profile)[**sky_dark**](http://sky-dark.livejournal.com/)'s [Better Living Through Alchemy 'verse](http://sky-dark.livejournal.com/437937.html), which is a few years post-anime #1 and very, very AU on the ending. The song 'I Just Want To Make Love To You', is side B of Etta James’ famous single 'At Last'.

It was all his subordinates’ fault.

Fuery started it, with his clipboard and his earnest puppy eyes and his do-gooding nature. Then Breda, snorting with unabashed skepticism. And Falman, pointing out that Roy wasn’t _entirely_ ungraceful, and he meant well, but the qualifier didn’t help matters.

The last straw was Havoc, looking over Fuery’s shoulder. “Maybe you shouldn’t, Boss, look at this—the other Elrics are signed up. You’d never have a chance against them. Good thing for them Sarah’s out of town that weekend though, we could kick their butts.”

 _Well,_ Roy supposed as he put his and Ed’s names down, _it is for charity_.

The more Roy thought about it though, the better it seemed—Ed would look _incredible_ in ballroom dance attire, Roy would finally have a reason to pass along some of his more refined social skills, and they made a very striking pair—surely that would count for something. They weren’t in the public eye as a couple very much, Roy had been meaning to remedy that.

He just had to convince Ed that the Central Citywide Charity Dance-Off was the way to do it.

***

Ed paused with the car door open and one foot inside, ducking down to take a sniff, then shot Roy a suspicious look.

“You picked up dinner.”

“I left work a little early,” Roy casually replied.

Ed threw himself into the passenger seat. “Slacker. Is…” –he sniffed again— “…noodles and meat sauce supposed to impress me? We have it all the time.”

“True, and the last time I surprised you with upscale carryout, you complained that it wasn’t noodles and meat sauce.”

Ed poked his face in the food bag. “Is that the new roasted garlic loaf they just started doing?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Well…okay. As long as you’re not trying to pull anything.”

***

After dinner, while Ed lounged on the couch grading tests with RD sprawled across his ankles, Roy took two wine glasses down from the top shelf of the cabinet (the lower shelves were filled with plates and coffee mugs, the kinds of things Ed might want to reach when Roy wasn’t there) and picked out a bottle of wine. Not the best wine he had to hand, but the one that would best suit Ed’s palate.

“Shaping young alchemic minds must be thirsty work,” Roy murmured, wafting one of the filled glasses under Ed’s nose. The Professor looked up at him over the tops of his glasses and raised an eyebrow.

“What did you do, Roy?”

“I poured my lover a glass of wine. I know the concept of romance is still foreign to you in spite of my best efforts, but I hope I’m still allowed to indulge in it every so often.”

“When I finish grading these you’re gonna tell me what’s fucking going on.” But he took the wine, and had no trouble draining the glass.

 _Carefully_ , Roy told himself. _This has to be done carefully_. When Ed was done with the wine and finishing up the last test, Roy went to the phonograph. _Something simple to start … a rhumba, maybe? Ah._ He pulled out their favorite song, the one he’d gotten Ed to dance to at Al and Riza’s wedding, and turned it to the B side. _Perfect._

Ed jumped at the first blast of the trumpets, dislodging RD and sending him skittering down the hall in a confused tizzy. He looked from the phonograph to Roy’s carefully casual expression, put his papers and red pen down on the coffee table, set his glasses on top of them, and straightened up to pin Roy with his most skeptical look.

 _I don’t want you  
to be no slave  
I don’t want you  
to work all day  
But I want you to be true  
and I just wanna make love to you_

Smooth and jazzy, an easy rhythm, that voice that made them both a little goopy. “Dance with me,” Roy asked with a winning smile, holding out a hand. Ed stared at the offering, mouth working as he argued with himself, but the wine and the noodles had done their intended job—he slid a cool metal hand into Roy’s, and let himself be pulled to his feet.

 _Love to you  
oooooh  
Love to you_

Roy drew him closer than was strictly necessary, a firm hand in the middle of his back; Ed had danced enough times with him here in their living room that he fell into an approximation of the proper frame without being told. Ed was easy to lead, though he didn’t think so—flexible, naturally athletic, and had a fair sense of timing when he wasn’t concentrating on it. Roy gently guided him backward, sideways, forward again; Ed looked down at their feet, then up at Roy. “What are you doing?”

“Just do what I do,” Roy murmured, letting a little heat into his expression. He didn’t have to fake it, either; Ed in his arms, looking studious in his vest and trousers, was still enough to make him start to sweat.

“Roy, you know I can’t—”

“Shh, just stay close to me. Just feel it. It’s like sparring, just slower.”

“Slower and I don’t kick your ass, you mean?” But Ed closed his eyes, letting Roy guide him.

 _All I wanna do is  
make your bread  
Just to make sure  
you’re well fed  
I don’t want you  
sad and blue  
And I just wanna make love to you_

“Quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow,” Roy murmured as they danced, pulling Ed close enough that he could feel the shifting of Roy’s hips, follow it with his own.

 _Love to you  
oooooh  
Love to you_

 _We might win_ , Roy thought to himself as Ed looked up at him again, a little flush across his cheeks, _if we could make it through a whole dance without stripping each other right there on the floor_.

Ed improvised a little flourish, a quick gyration that brought his cock very sharply to Roy’s attention. Roy’s cock was paying attention, too.

“We’re still gonna have that conversation,” Ed husked, nosing his way into Roy’s unbuttoned collar. “ _After_ you fuck me senseless.”

“Whatever you say,” Roy choked out, and slid his hand from Ed’s shoulder blade down the trim line of his waist to the firm, glorious curve of his ass.

So far, the lesson had been a complete success.

***

Afterwards, Roy drew Ed, pliable in satisfaction as usual, in against his chest. They lay like that for a while, drifting back down together, their breaths slowing. Finally Ed stirred and pressed a kiss to Roy's shoulder. "That was a good one," he muttered, gravelly and spent.

"I certainly got that impression," said Roy softly, playing with relaxed automail fingertips. Ed had made it noisy, howling and pulling at the comforter until Roy was sure he'd rip it. Roy should really remember to call up that guy about getting some better soundproofing installed.

"Can still hear that song in my head," Ed said. He started to hum it, very quietly under his breath. After a few moments, Roy joined him.

This was a good moment, an ideal moment even. Ed was relaxed, Ed was happy, Ed was less likely to kick his butt when he was half-asleep. Roy scritched the back of his head, and Ed made a little rumbly noise. "You know," Roy said, "You're a really good dancer. You always undervalue yourself at anything that's not alchemy or fighting, but really - you're a natural."

"You think?" Ed was so blissed out that he wasn't even immediately resistant to this idea.

"I do." Roy put his lips to the shell of Ed's ear. "I'd love for you to dance with me in public sometime." Ed wriggled in that charming, half-resistant way. "We did agree, didn't we? We're public enough by rumor, by consensus even." Roy dropped his voice even further. "Yes?"

"Yeah." Ed looked up at him, eyes soft. He stroked a hand through Roy's sweaty bangs, thumbed the edge of his lip. "You're mine. 'Bout time I just - _hey wait._ "

 _Damn._

"I know what's going on now," continued Ed, with sudden fire in his eyes. He came up on his elbows and jabbed a steel finger at Roy's nose.. "You signed us up for the Central City Dance-off thing, didn't you?"

 _Double damn._ "How do you know about that?"

"Al. He and Riza signed up, he won't shut up about it, he - wait, is this some weird Mustang-Hawkeye competitive thing?" Ed's eyes narrowed. "Do you guys have a _bet on_?"

"Absolutely not!" Mind you, it was certainly an idea: he was fairly sure he could needle Riza into accepting a wager - and the look on her face if she had to hand over the money would be absolutely priceless.

"But you signed us up? You didn't? Oh, fuck, you _did_ , didn't you?" Ed's eyes were widening in panic. Ed's panic usually led to Ed's anger, and Ed's anger usually led to Roy sleeping on the couch (at least until 1am, when he'd sneak into bed and Ed would grumble but inevitably let him spoon up anyway).

"I - " Roy sighed. It was calculated, but Ed knew it was calculated, so he might as well play his best hand. "Riza keeps telling me, Alphonse is such a marvelous dancer, you know, I'm sure she's expecting them to win, and you know she's secretly a little competitive, and …"

One of the advantages of being (practically) married to someone is that sometimes, it doesn't matter how obvious your strategy is, you both know it will still work.

Ed looked at him for a long moment, and Roy watched the instinct to brotherly competition build behind his eyes. He tried not to grin.

Finally, Ed just rolled his face into a pillow, and yelled, "Dammit! Every. Freaking. Time."

"Is that a yes?"

Ed nodded violently into the pillow, and Roy showed him his appreciation by molding to his back.

***

Alphonse never missed a deadline. Whether it be professionally or personally, Alphonse Elric would have himself be known as punctual. Punctuality was a very overlooked virtue, and it was not to be confused with anal, no matter what his elder brother said.

His wife, also a practitioner of punctuality, looked up as he crossed the threshold of her office and nodded to him in her brisk and pleased with him manner. He felt that swell in his chest because he was certain he was in the slim top 5% of ever receiving a pleased nod from her. He had a leather portfolio under his arm, but this one was devoid of architectural drafts and instead held carefully selected sheet music.

“I took the liberty of stopping by Baritone's Music Emporium on the way over,” he said, coming to a stop at the front of her desk, back at attention as though he were still enlisted and she still his C.O., _(and well really, she was still his C.O., and she would be until his last breath),_ “but as of yet I haven't made it by the library or a dance studio that might have an sufficient library of its own.”

“It can be our weekend project,” she said, neatening her desk, standing to move around the desk and over to him. “We'll discuss the most likely candidates during lunch. I'll pick up the phone book from one of the secretaries on the way out. Have you heard? The General has signed up for this competition as well.”

“Really? That is news,” Al said, turning to fall into step behind her, she paused until he came abreast and gave her a sheepish grin. “Old habits,” he said with a light shrug, she smiled at him. “And just who will he have as a dance partner? You're obviously spoken for and I'm not sure who else he could approach without Ed suffering a fit of some sort.”

“Your brother's name was on the sign up form as the General's partner,” Riza responded lightly. “I find myself quite surprised, because as you know, even though their relationship is common knowledge and somewhat accepted, Edward still has this aura of awkward embarrassment he exudes when anything questioning his manhood comes into play. This of course being Ed's own unique and individual definition of the term, you realize...” Her words and forward momentum trailed to a stop when she realized her husband had come to a halt a few yards back.

“Brother is going to compete?” Al said, in an almost hypnotized way. He had the leather portfolio pulled to his chest now and he gave it a rub, rather lovingly, and cocked an eyebrow at his wife.

Riza allowed herself a tiny exasperated noise.

“Please don't go there,” she said.

“I'm not,” Alphonse protested, all innocence. “But you know I'm going to have to go there. Ed will surely know that you and I are going to be on the roster. I promise not to start anything, but please please let me plan something for when he does start something.”

“It's this sort of circular Elric logic that makes things start in the first place,” Riza chided lightly. “Really, Alphonse, this is a charity event. Don't you credit your brother with the maturity to realize it for what it is and not a new and intriguing way to try to play genius one-upmanship yet again?”

“Riza,” Al said, giving his own little noise, “this is _brother_ you're speaking about.”

“Pardon me for ever giving either of you the benefit of the doubt,” she said with a little huff, and then continued walking. Al trotted to catch up to her.

***

The Professor realized he had a shadow. He skidded to a halt, turned half way around and leveled a gaze that could sear through iron down the hall. Seth made a small 'eep' sound and got pinned in place, unable to save himself. The Professor's eyebrows telegraphed a dire threat but he cleared his throat, looked around and let Seth go, a small mercy in itself.

“Why are you following me?” the professor asked the boy bluntly. “I'm busy.”

“It was nothing,” Seth said, voice too thin and high to be the truth, “we're both just walking the same way!”

“Oh, you have business in the arts department?” the professor asked.

Seth trembled. For in truth, yes, he had business with the arts department. But he could never, never tell anyone about his business with the arts department for fear of his life. For it was the law of the playground that boys did not dance. Not unless they were forced to; and even then, they had to affect a bored and nonchalant attitude. And then it was only an excuse to get their hands on a girl _(and Seth still wasn't clear on why that was important)_ , but worst of the worst, they especially didn't dance _ballet._

So that meant that Seth, if found out, was dead. Very, very, unforgivably dead. At least his death would come from the hands of his idol and not from Daniel, who was likely to want him to linger a while before giving the final blow.

“I have a class,” Seth said, barely above a whisper.

“You take arts?” the professor said, sounding surprised. “Well, alright then, go to class.” Then he gave Seth another look and continued down the hall. Seth stood froze in indecision and the professor stopped after a few more feet and looked back at him.

“Well? Get to class,” the professor said, and seemed to be waiting for Seth to scurry away. But the problem was the professor seemed to be heading for the same destination as Seth himself, and to avoid being accused of following the professor then, Seth jerked to life, scrambled down the hall, past the professor and disappeared through a doorway about half way down.

Now it was Ed's turn to start sweating it out. Ed was pretty sure that Seth had just gone into Mrs. Gutenmeir's room. Ed was on his way to speak to Mrs. Gutenmeir and doing it at a time where he was sure he wouldn't be spotted. The law of the playground dictated that a teacher, no matter how cool that teacher might be, could not be seen consorting with the enemy, such as the arts teacher. Because why they had such classes in a boy's school was anyone’s guess. And Daniel made sure that Ed knew the boundaries of coolness from the start.

That naturally meant that if Ed was to step into Mrs. Gutenmeir's room, then Seth would possibly rat him out. Ed didn't want his regime of terror to have any weaknesses and being seen with the arts teacher was in definite violation of the contract he'd inadvertently signed by being cool. He was starting to think cool was too complicated for him to maintain and then of course the other side of his brain that screamed for acceptance broke into hysterical tears. It took a few moments of reassurance to calm it down. Well if Seth was there he'd just have to wait for a better time.

 _Wait._

Why was _Seth_ in the arts department? Could it be that Seth was breaking the unspoken rule of the playground himself? Did blackmail cancel out blackmail? The Roy part of his brain seemed to swell with pride at this thought. It gave Ed's infant manipulative streak a little prod to get it out and visible to the growing thought process. Should he risk it? And what was this anyways? It was just one teacher going to talk to another teacher who sometimes wore a tutu and did twirly things. But she was a girl, it was allowed.

Why was he even having this conversation with himself? He was not thirteen.

He really didn't want to give up his cool; but some things like wanting to make stupid generals proud of him demanded risk. So he took a deep breath, went down the hall and turned into the doorway that Seth had turned into mere moments earlier.

***

“500 cenz says he hasn’t even _told_ Ed yet,” Breda drawled, propping his feet up on his desk.

“I don’t know, he did seem to be…”

“Prancing?” Havoc suggested, and Fuery waggled his head back and forth as though he didn’t quite want to agree aloud, but thought the assessment wasn’t far off.

“I was going to say ‘satisfied,’ but either way, I’m putting money on Ed actually agreeing.”

“The General has been with Edward a long time, I’m sure he knows all the best ways to convince him,” Falman mused, and Breda pulled a magnificent face.

“I don’t even wanna _think_ about that.”

“I’m sure Falman meant convincing arguments, not…” Fuery offered, though his face blanched as he trailed off.

“Yes, naturally,” Falman reassured him, eyes widening to a point where they were nearly open—they all tried to avoid Fuery fainting during work hours, it always got back to Colonel Hawkeye, and that was never a good thing—but Fuery seemed to still be in control, and the moment of panic passed.

“The boss is pretty competitive,” Havoc mused, twirling a pencil between his fingers. “With Al in the running, he’ll probably be working the General as hard as he—aw, crap,” he groaned as Fuery tumbled from his chair.

Breda glared at him across the table. “Now look what you did. Go take him to the bathroom and splash some water on his face, will ya? It’s your fault this time.”

“But I did it last time!”

“It was your fault then, too!”

“All right, all right,” Havoc grumbled. “Come on, Kain, on your feet…”

***

Roy stared into the mirror, turning this way and that. The new eye really did make him look younger, and he’d stayed fairly trim—nothing compared to Ed, the man was some kind of god, but even so. He twisted to the side, eying his profile, and finding it satisfactory. _I can still be sexy. And sexy is how we’re going to win this thing._

 _Riza and Alphonse will certainly choose something technically difficult, something that requires precision and skill. We won’t match them that way, we’ll have to take the emotional appeal approach…perhaps a mambo? Or a paso doble, the drama would certainly suit Edward…hmmm, or a tango. I haven’t danced a tango in a decade, at least._

It was surprisingly easy to imagine Ed in his arms, one leg wrapped around his body in a gaucho...he let his eyes unfocus and just felt that familiar body leaning into his, sliding into an _ocho_ , grapevining along the bathroom tiles and then sliding down into a lunge, his imagination providing the weight of an automail leg hooked over his thigh. His knees barely twinged—maybe he really could do the dance justice, with some practice—

“Uh…sir?”

His balance was gone in the blink of an eye; scrambling to find it again, his shoe slid in a little puddle near the sinks and the General, who a moment ago had been at the height of his own imaginary grace and suavity, went sprawling onto the hard tiles with a painful wrench and an undignified yelp.

Havoc propped the woozy Fuery up against the wall, sighing. “Should I get you some ice, sir?”

Roy pressed his forehead into the floor and let out a slow, calming breath. “Please do. And call Edward, would you? Tell him I’m taking the rest of the day off.” Then he twisted his face enough to look up at Havoc, leaning over him with eyes that were clearly calculating how to best relate this story to the rest of the office. “If you tell _anyone_ about this—” Roy started, hoping against hope.

“I’ll be sure to tell them how dashing you looked dancing all by yourself, sir.”

 _Perfect. Just perfect._

***

Ed announced himself by clearing his throat and rapping on the door of the arts department once with his automail hand. Seth was now staring at him in a fashion akin to the way a cow stared down a coming train, and then Seth seemed to be trying to summon the ability to turn invisible. Ed gave him a slight raise of the eyebrow but said nothing. Mrs. Gutenmeir turned to him then, and seemed surprised to see him there.

“Professor Elric,” she said with her slight, unplaceable accent, “this is a surprise.”

Ed squirmed a little. While he'd never taken to the time to get to know the woman any better than just another faculty member, it seemed his infamy was very much in effect. Seth was still in the thralls of being caught in the arts department willingly and Ed made a pointed effort not to look at him so he wouldn't be any more uncomfortable.

“I thought I would ... ” Ed began, but in the same token Seth didn't want to be caught, well, neither did he. “I was wondering if you had a moment, maybe after class?” Ed ventured. “There was something I wanted to discuss with you.”

Now the tension reached a rather interesting peak. Seth seemed apoplectic and slightly pale. Ed could see him out of the corner of his eye because his lack of color also gave him a pallid glow. Just as Seth seemed to be reaching critical mass and possibly about to explode, Boyd, also one of Ed's alchemy students and resident football player, appeared in the doorway. He stopped to take in the situation. First he looked at Ed, then at Seth, then at Mrs. Gutenmeir, then at Ed again, as if he was trying to work through some complicated puzzle.

“Are we having dance class today?” Boyd asked, and Seth made a little wet noise, like the sizzling of a fuse that was put out just in time. Ed decided to not to make any comment at all for fear of doing something traumatizing to Seth, even if he wasn't sure what that might be.

“Yes, of course Boyd,” Mrs. Gutenmeir said and made a vague gesture. “You take Seth with you to the dressing room and get ready. I must speak to the Professor a moment.”

Boyd gave a little shrug and nodded, walked past Ed and over to Seth. Then he took Seth by the collar and sort of dragged him off to a door at the back of the room and went through it. Ed watched them go for a moment before feeling eyes on the back of his neck. He turned back to Mrs. Gutenmeir, and all at once couldn't think of a word to say. It was very unlike him, this sudden lack of verbosity, and she was looking him with her dark eyes, side of her mouth pulled down a little.

“It isn't like you to come and be social,” she said. “It is the talk of the break room, this lack of niceties you exude so it permeates the very air around you and keeps everyone at bay.” She moved then, a subtle shift and glide closer, and Ed almost backed up a step. But he took a breath and squared his jaw and gave her a little bow of his head in acknowledgment.

“I know I'm not the most approachable person you'll meet,” he offered by way of an apology. “I've never had to be civil with large groups of people for long periods of time. I'm, uh, working on it?”

“The boys think highly of you, however,” she sniffed and waved her hand. “So that I can commend you with. So what is it you want with, Mr. Famous Alchemist? I'm only the arts instructor. While I think that the art of alchemy must involve a fair amount of creativity, it seems to be crudely curtailed by the science it implies.”

Ed ought to know how to deal with intelligent and aggressive women by now. In fact, intelligent and aggressive women seemed to be the only women he'd ever dealt with in his life. But Mrs. Gutenmeir, with her accent and her dark eyes, olive skin and dark hair, _(a different dark than Roy, and, if he were honest with himself, at first Roy was intimidating)_ , was a little beyond his ken. So, in his usual fashion of blundering head first without really having a plan of action, _(or looking where he was going)_ he blurted out: “I need to learn to dance.”

That stopped her in her tracks. She narrowed her eyes a bit, and the side of her mouth that had been pulled down in a frown tilted up, just a little.

“My next period is free,” she informed him. Then she looked him up and down, as if assessing his dance-worthiness. Ed shifted a bit uncomfortably under her scrutiny. What? He could dance, he'd just never really danced. Mostly, when he was younger, Roy just dragged him around the living room rubbing on him. He liked it, sure, and it was supposed to be a dance. So he had learnt to dance by osmosis, so what? It was still dancing!

“The uh, the only other thing I have today is study hall,” Ed got out. “That is uh, later in the afternoon, so I could come next period, if that is all right with you, and maybe you could just give me the basics. I'm a very quick study and so you know, as long as I know what to expect I'm sure I can pick this up easily enough.”

His attention was caught by the door at the back of the room opening again. Boyd came out dressed in what looked like a one piece, skin tight grey over all body stretchy thing and a kind of scarf tied around the middle almost like a skirt. Ed wasn't going to call it a skirt because Boyd alone made about two of Ed and Ed would get in trouble if he hurt a student, even in self defense. Not that he thought Boyd would do anything even bordering on physical; come to think of it he was the most non-aggressive tank sized football player Ed had ever met; but there was no sense in testing the boundaries. Seth, on the other hand, was doing a good job of being invisible by not being in the room.

Ed turned slowly to look at Mrs. Gutenmeir.

“That isn't mandatory for lessons ... is it?” he asked.

Mrs. Gutenmeir kept her slight, mysterious little grin and gave a shrug.

***

For a while their lunch was spent in silent contemplation of the sheet music; Riza had learned piano as a girl, after being told by a well-meaning busybody in town that she had the hands for it, and though now her hands were mostly put to use at the shooting range, she remembered enough of the basics to get a sense of the options. Now and then in her concentration she hummed a few bars to herself, or bobbed her head to some internal rhythm, and on any other day Alphonse would have found it utterly charming in its novelty.

However, today was not any other day. His brother, his "I'm a genius and can do anything and everything with perfect ease" brother, his "I'm not gay even though I'm married to Roy Mustang and we are both all man thank you very much" brother, his "WHO'S SO SHORT HE COULD STAND IN AS A WOMAN FOR A DANCE PARTNER" brother, was competing in the dance-off.

Al had a pretty good idea of how the General had convinced Ed, as well--there were parts of it he just didn't want to think about too much, because well his _brother_ and his _pirate_ and he loved them both but didn't need to contemplate their sometimes manipulative sex life, but there was a key aspect that he did understand. Ed would never agree to dance in public, probably in some kind of costume, with Roy, unless he knew he’d be competing against Al. Sibling rivalry was obviously the main motivator, and Al knew his brother would put his considerable drive and determination into winning.

He'd just have to work extra hard to make sure he came out on top in this latest round of Elric vs. Elric. Naturally, the first step would be choosing the right music--from which, he realized suddenly, he'd allowed himself to be distracted.

Though music was not Al's particular forte, he was of course a genius, and reading the rise and fall of notes on the page was really all about math. Tempo would matter; something challenging, upbeat, grand! Something to make the audience gasp with the swiftness of their feet, their turns, their lifts--

"I quite like this one, Alphonse, what do you think?" Riza passed a thin sheaf of music across the table to him, careful of her meal half-eaten and his cleaned plate in between.

Al skimmed his eyes over the first page. "I think it could work, if we keep it at a lively pace," he said casually, trying to keep all trace of competitive spirit out of his voice—and failing, if Riza’s raised eyebrow was any indication.

“You do realize I’ll be dancing in heels?”

He gave her his most innocent and winning smile. “I have every confidence in your ability with them.”

“Perhaps you should try wearing them,” she suggested mildly, and though they were married now and did all sorts of amazing and delightful things that married people do with each other, when she used that tone of voice he was still fifteen and awed by her commanding aura.

“We can always adjust the tempo, of course,” he answered quickly. “It’s a very nice piece, though if there’s another you like better, we could do that instead. Why don’t I take a look in that telephone book you brought for local dance studios? I can make a list for the weekend, and arrange them by distance from home.”

“An excellent suggestion,” his wife replied.

***

“Tell me what sort of dance you wish to perform,” she said to him, standing close.

“The kind that will win a competition,” he replied, wondering if taking a step back would be rude.

“So I see, you want to dance a dance of romance. Romance is the thing if you want to impress,” she said, gliding even closer.

“It that a requirement? I was thinking more in terms of athletic ability?” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

“That is not how you get noticed. There is plenty to notice about you, but you must use it wisely,” she said. “It is clear you need many hands-on lessons. I will lead until you are ready.”

Then she did the most amazing thing. She grabbed his automail hand. The next amazing thing was she wrapped her arm around his waist, and Ed had to give her credit, she felt stronger than she looked. But the zenith of all the amazing things was that she used the arm she had around his waist to draw him right up against her _body._

Right up against her, and her ... her bosom was pressed against his chest.

“I'm not sure I'm ready for romance,” Ed gasped, holding his other hand back and away from their bodies in case he accidentally touched her, like he wasn't touching her enough.

“Don't be absurd, a sturdy, good-looking boy like you must be ready for anything,” she purred in her strange accent, and then her hand slid down to settle against his lower back.

“Oh, I usually am,” Ed assured her, breathless and starting to move in strange ways. He kept trying to suck his stomach through his spine and he kept trying to lean out as far as he could from her as she kept a vicious grip around him.

“Look at me,” she commanded and he was helpless but to obey; his gaze fixing on hers. Her eyes were dark, almost like the Bastard’s, and in a way, that helped.

“When you dance the dance of romance, you must dance from your heart, your soul and your stomach. The eyes, those are the windows of the soul and you must keep them fixed on your partner. The body will find its rhythm when the souls meet,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky timbre.

“Where does the stomach figure in?” Ed heard himself ask pitifully, trapped by her gaze and her intent.

“You will feel when it is right,” she said. “You keep it there, especially if you are a man, so other things won't be to much of a distraction,” and when she said that, her almost-Mustang black eyes staring into his, he knew instantly what the distraction she was talking about would be. Oh, the hell it was to be male and unable to hide his more intimate thoughts from the world. He swore he could almost feel his automail sweat from where she gripped it firmly with her other hand.

“And now,” she gave him a savage tug and his body plastered to the front of hers, “you feel it, see? There in your stomach. It bubbles up and floods your other senses, and you move.”

And they did, a quick long step, Ed stepping back, her leg against the outside of his, pressed close. His stomach was signaling that yes, the feeling was there but it was sort of hard to handle and it might get away and if it did that could be bad because the next stop down the road was a place where excitement was hard to hide. Then she stepped again, and again and she advanced and he retreated but he couldn't get away, and before he knew it they'd made a circuit of the room and he couldn't tear his eyes away from hers and wait... was that a hand on his ass?

“You are a natural,” she said to him and he just noticed how red her lips were. They hadn’t been that red earlier, were they? He didn't remember. But they were red and shiny and that had to be a hand on his ass; and he started to object but being called a natural was like a compliment, wasn't it? It was, he was pretty sure of it and of course, Ed being Ed, getting a compliment about being good at something the very first time he ever tried it only fed into his own personal mantra of how awesome he was at everything. He was a genius after all. He was sure she knew that, but in case she didn't ...

“I'm a genius,” he said, staring into her eyes, “so everything comes naturally to me.”

That hand on his ass was squeezing, wasn't it?

“So it's said,” she countered, moving them around the room again. Ed was learning that so far, in dancing, he went backward in a circle and had his ass groped. It was suspiciously like being at home with Roy on a Sunday afternoon when Roy got the inevitable hots like he did every Sunday.

“So is this pretty much it?” Because really, what else could there be to dancing? He'd seen some dancing in his time, but he'd never paid attention. Apparently he didn't have to because he was a natural and Roy better be damn well happy he got that confirmed. Still, there did seem to be something missing. “I mean, I seem to remember there should be music and sometimes I think I saw people like twirl, or something, I'm not sure.” This was when Mrs. Gutenmeir backed him into the wall by the door.

“I think it's the only lesson I want to teach you,” she said, very close to his ear and then his ear seemed to be in her mouth and the hand not on his ass was on his crotch, and well he was pretty damn sure this wasn't part of any dance he'd ever seen. Or maybe he just hadn’t been allowed to see those dances because he was underage, although Ed never had really felt he was underage for anything and while all this speculation about just what was and wasn't dance specific in Mrs. Gutenmeir's whole demonstration was going through his head what she had her hand on _now_ definitely wasn't in any lesson he'd ever had except from Roy Mustang.

“I HAVE TO GO NOW,” Ed said loudly, trying hard to press his ass and her hand through the wall behind him. “YOU'RE MARRIED AND I AM TOO, OR WELL, I MIGHT AS WELL BE AND I HAVE TO GO NOW,” he said again, even louder and grabbed the doorjamb beside him as leverage to tug himself free. She made a sound like a frustrated growl, and as he managed to slide from between her and the wall, she kept a grip on his vest. After a moment she released him, seemed to smooth herself over without touching anything and lifted her chin and one of her eyebrows.

“Come back tomorrow for lesson two,” she told him and he gaped at her, then threw himself out the door into the hall.

He looked left and right, panting slightly and then restrained himself from running down to the end and ducked into the boy's room. He stood with his back to the door, as if to hold it closed and listened for sounds of pursuit. After a few moments he felt safe enough to go over to the sink and turn on the water to splash some in his face. He lifted his head to look at himself in the mirror. Well, that wasn't exactly what he's been expecting. It seemed this dancing competition was going to be a monumental event of firsts for him all the way around. Just because it seemed she had ulterior motives it didn't negate the fact that she told him he was a natural. That he was sure of; but of the lesson itself; there was no way he could do anything like that in front of an audience with the General. If being with _her_ like that did this to him, just imagine that had been Roy. Then imagine being carted off to jail with public indecency being the least of the charges again them. No, they definitely couldn't dance like that, which meant of course here he was again at square one. When he could be acceptable in public again, it seemed there was only one thing he could do to learn to dance.

Study it on his own. Which meant, naturally, him being a natural and all, he'd have to come up with his own style of dance. But it was always best to base any new and innovative techniques in tradition. That way they would be more easily accepted. So, he would just have to stop at the library on the way home. With new insight and determination he strode out of the boys room and back into the land of being an adult. It was always best to have a course of action after all. He'd better get an early start as well, because what if Al was coming to this conclusion, too? There would be no good books left.

Ed had endured a crush before during his career as the youngest and newest teacher in the academy. He realized now what a tame and simple one it had been. There were still times she would smile at him or say something to him, and with this new perspective it made him feel a little guilty and a little sad. But not sad enough not to use it to get out of study hall. He stopped in the doorway of Miss Bloom's office and gave her his best smile.

***

Roy's way home involved a detour, and a dance equipment shop, and a really rather dashing and really rather expensive pair of Aerugan dress shoes in supple, shiny black leather. The sales assistant informed him that he would be able to tango for hours in these once he'd broken them in, and then attempted to sell him a pair of spangly high heels for his lovely dance partner.

The plan for the afternoon was a pot of coffee, radio and newspaper, the rare pleasure of being in the house alone, perhaps a few rounds of crunches if he could manage to stop RD jumping on his chest. He really needed to be in good shape for this thing, not that he was carrying extra weight around the middle, of course not, for sure; but when you're dancing next to Ed, every little helps.

After depositing coat and shopping bag in the hall, Roy was very surprised to find the man himself in the living room. Ed's feet were propped up on the arm of the sofa (no boots, Roy had won that one), his glasses were perched on his nose, and he was surrounded by books and scribbling frantically in his notebook. Alchemy research? No, one book had a dust cover with a cartoon of a couple waltzing and giving each other the eye.

Ed looked up, pushed the glasses up his nose and gave him a grumpy, scholarly frown. "You're home early."

" _You're_ home early. What about the young minds?"

"What about the peanut gallery?"

"I left Havoc in charge of the office."

"I got Miss Bloom to take study hall for me."

"What terrible slackers we are," said Roy. He came around the sofa and moved a couple of the larger books so he could perch on the edge. Then he picked up Ed's notebook. Ed's grip tightened on it. Roy gave him a plaintive look and tugged again.

Ed frowned. "I'm not going to have sex with you. I'm researching."

"So I see." Roy peered over the top of the book. "Is there strictly speaking any need to write research on dance moves in alchemy code?"

"Yes," said Ed, as if this was a very obvious thing, "Al doesn't know the latest version."

Roy tutted. "Besides the question, which we'll leave, of whether you're taking this slightly too seriously, it's not like he couldn't figure it out."

"Yes, but this will slow him down long enough for me to work out my next move."

"I'm sure your brother wouldn't do anything so sneaky and underhand as to steal your notebooks. And by the way, I don't agree that we don't have time to have sex, you just think we don't have time because you're anxious."

Ed just shook his head, as if none of this was even worth replying too. "Anyway," he said, "I booked us rehearsal space at a dance studio from six to nine, so you should get moving. I already packed your bag but you might want to look at it, you don't really have any sparring gear so I just did the best I could."

"Oh," said Roy. Well, that answered the question about whether Ed would compromise on an afternoon quickie.

***

“Again!” Ed yelled. “Come on, harder, Roy!”

Ordinarily, Roy rather enjoyed Ed topping from the bottom. He was rapidly discovering that it wasn’t quite as fun in the dance studio as it was in the bedroom.

Ed launched himself into Roy’s arms, arms splayed gracefully, and Roy – bent his knees, caught him and swung him back. This time, he just about managed not to stagger.

“Now, lift!” bellowed his new sergeant major as Roy’s arms strained from dipping what felt like several tons of muscle and steel.

Roy managed to lift him about six inches. Oh, well. At least it was more than last time.

He’d imagined he’d be taking the lead here; but apparently, Ed had decided the best way to handle the unfamiliar world of dance was to turn it into the familiar world of advanced martial arts. Familiar to Ed, that was. And Roy’s pride made him keep trying, because he should be up to this, dammit! He was relatively young, he was physically fit, perhaps not to Ed’s admittedly insane standards, but he could handle this and more importantly he could show Ed that he could handle this.

“Right, let’s go again,” said Ed.

“I thought that was a bit better than the last one,” said Roy, piqued at the lack of praise.

“We need to get you handling basic dips tonight if we want to move onto aerials this week,” said Ed, ignoring him completely. “I think a move like the Rolling Pin Dip would look pretty badass, and we could stick in a couple of back flips” – Ed flipping around Roy’s arm like it was a gymnastics bar – “a Swan Drop” - Roy holding Ed poised upside down – “and you know, some other good stuff. We should look through the book together.” Ed pointed at Roy’s new nemesis: a book of ballroom dance moves lying open on the bench.

“I told you, lifts are illegal in professional ballroom dancing competitions.”

“You told me they’d probably be more relaxed ‘cause it’s for charity and all.”

Well, yes, because Ed had implied Roy was making excuses due to not being limber enough. Roy mentally cursed his own ego. “But I still think it’s bad form to have a routine that’s _full_ of lifts, I say we should make an effort to adhere to the spirit of ballroom dancing rules if not the letter.”

“And I say I don’t want to lose to someone with more kickass moves, just because you were being a stuffed shirt about this.”

“Ed –“ Roy tried, “Look, it’s more than that. You can’t just jumble a bunch of random athletic moves together and call it a routine, that’s not quite how ballroom dancing works.”

“How does it work, then?” said Ed, “Other than groping, you mean groping, don’t you?”

“No,” said Roy with great dignity, “I mean that it has a _rhythm_ , it has a story to it.”

Ed cocked his head and raised a skeptical eyebrow. Where was all this resistance coming from, anyway?

“It’s about feeling,” Roy continued. He faced Ed, took his hands and drew them into a starting pose. “Like music, right? How about,” Roy lowered his voice and fixed Ed with his eyes, “we work on something a little less – martial for a while?” He moved up against Ed and slid one hand down to the small of his back. “I know that as a genius, love, you firmly believe you can become an expert on any subject within a week, but when it comes to dancing, I have _many_ years’ experience under my belt.” Roy began to tap out a tempo against Ed’s back with his fingers. He began to move - _quick quick slow, quick quick slow_ \- and Ed followed his steps. “You were really showing some promise at the tango. I think we should take that further,” he murmured into the shell of Ed’s ear.

And then, out of nowhere Ed jerked back suddenly and twisted, and then Roy had his arms around empty air and Ed was standing a foot away with his arms folded. “I don’t think so,” he said. “ _Further_ in your book means _further towards humping in the middle of the dance floor_ , and we’re not in the living room, there are going to be _people_. _People_ do not want to see you grabbing my ass! There is no public demand for that sort of thing! You wouldn’t catch Al ass-grabbing when he dances!”

“But, Ed, the tango is a very respected –“

“No humping dances!” Ed pointed a finger at Roy’s nose. “You’d better put all that sexy stuff out of your mind right now, because it’s just going to distract you from practicing to dance properly. We are not going to win this thing with sexy stuff!”

Roy opened his mouth to disagree, but then Ed launched himself forward once more, and it was once again time to concentrate on not staggering and falling over.

In this way, the three hours somehow passed surprisingly quickly. Roy suddenly found that it was nine, and he was sitting on a bench dabbing his face with a towel and wondering how the hell things had come to this pass, while Ed threw things into a kit bag with seemingly the same amount of energy he’d had three hours ago.

“Right!” said Ed. “We’d better head straight home to bed, we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“We have?” asked Roy. This sounded ominous.

“Yep. We’re booked in tomorrow at 6:00am for an hour. I think we need to work on your flexibility and core strength, so I’m going through some basic training moves with you. Stretches, getting you in touch with your centre of gravity.” Ed illustrated his point by bringing one foot up, locking it against his thigh, and moving through a series of fluid arm movements. Ordinarily, Roy would have been turned on. Right now, he was terrified.

“Do we really need to book out the studio just to do stretches?” Roy managed.

"Yes, we do. It’s to stop you complaining that Mrs Hennessy next door can see you in the back yard standing on one leg waving a stick.” Ed spread his arms for balance, straightened his bent leg, and then swung it smoothly forward and up until it pointed to the ceiling, flush against his chest. These were not moves for ordinary mortals.

“But – six o’ clock?” Roy tried again.

“It's okay,” said Ed, waving a hand dismissively, “you get used to it after the first couple of weeks."

Roy turned his most appealing look on Ed. Ed didn’t even notice. His eyes were glazed with obsession, looking far beyond Roy, at the road to victory over younger brothers.

“Ed?” tried Roy one last time.

He didn’t seem to hear.

This dance-off thing was really, really not going as planned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Central City Charity Dance-off. Where Roy sees an opportunity to take his relationship with Ed public via a classy tango, Ed sees an exciting new venue for brotherly oneupmanship. Will Ed invent breakdancing several decades too early? Will Roy's back survive the experience? How itchy can Riza's trigger finger possibly get? Join us for an epic tale of determination, sweat and very frilly shirts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in [](http://sky-dark.livejournal.com/profile)[**sky_dark**](http://sky-dark.livejournal.com/)'s [Better Living Through Alchemy 'verse](http://sky-dark.livejournal.com/437937.html), which is a few years post-anime #1 and very, very AU on the ending.

Alphonse was never more grateful for his clear win over Ed in the height department as he was when the dance tux arrived. How on Earth did any man make a tailcoat look dignified, and not like an oversized penguin costume? He supposed it would have some dramatic flair on the turns, but somehow it made him look short when he _wasn’t_ , and he wondered what such an outfit would do to Ed. Perhaps his brother would simply refuse to wear one. But what would he wear instead? Certainly not a dress…

“Does it fit?”

Al jumped, and glanced guiltily around the empty locker room. “Riza, this is the men’s side—”

“And my husband is the only man here,” she replied, unflappable, but maybe with a hint of a smile in her voice at Al’s expense. “You’re taking a rather long time getting dressed, and we only have the studio to ourselves for an hour today.”

Alphonse smoothed his lapels self-consciously. “It fits, I think, but doesn’t it make me look a little sho—”

Then he looked up, caught sight of her more clearly than just a familiar shape at the corner of his vision, and his mouth went utterly dry.

“Riza…you look…wow.”

She smiled that rare, pleased smile and gave a sedate turn; the flowing skirt fluttered around her feet, just hinting at its capacity for flare. The fitted sleeves hugged the subtle muscles of her arms, except for the sheer banner of fabric floating down along the length of one arm, and another attached at the opposite wrist. They whirled around her body as she spun again, a little faster, a corkscrew of pale aquamarine. His normally solid and dependable wife seemed unusually ethereal wrapped up in such elegance. There was an understated row of beadwork and sparkle around the high neckline, and the back … the back was entirely open, an expanse of smooth skin, shoulder blades shifting like hidden wings beneath, and a gentle curve of spine leading his eyes downward.

Then Riza turned to face him again, and when he could make himself look up at her face, there was a pleased and knowing sparkle in her eye. “Come along, we need to get started.” And since dancing would mean having Riza closer…well, how could he protest? Alphonse shook his head like a dog to clear it, and offered his arm.

Riza set the needle to its track as they swept by the phonograph, and the opening chords of the piece they’d chosen burst through the quiet studio like fish breaking the surface of a pond. There would be a pianist at the competition, but for the moment it was just Alphonse, Riza and the recording, and she watched him expectantly from the center of the floor until he got his wits back about him and slipped his hand around her back.

They’d been rehearsing in their costume shoes for almost two weeks now, but the clothes were another matter; they weren’t actually heavy or unusual enough to throw off his balance, but he felt dizzy all the same, and Riza felt lighter in his arms, as though they might both float away. They moved together smoothly, strong and practiced in spite of Al’s distraction, or perhaps because of it, and Riza smiled that tiny knowing smile again, as though she could read his mind. He was panting for breath when their track ended, not entirely from exertion. Riza, goddess of a wife that she was, let him kiss her soft and slow for a long moment before she pulled away to start the track again.

“A few times more,” she murmured, drawing him back to their starting position, her hand squeezing his before loosening into proper dance position.

“All right,” he managed, breathless. _Take that, Ed. You’re not the only ones with chemistry._

***

Roy always looked forward to this time of the evening. Ed was methodical about gathering up all his various instruments of hygiene when he planned a soak in the tub. Roy would sometimes, on the pretense of holding a conversation, follow him about and then take up residence on the toilet (with lid down) just so he could watch Ed be wet. He was sure if Ed ever found out this was the main reason Roy often trailed him into the bathroom, he'd be evicted.

"So, I've been thinking about our routine," Roy said, as Ed meandered into the bathroom, dropping clean boxers on the sink.

"Uh huh?" said Ed. He leaned over the bath and turned on the faucet, incidentally giving Roy a great view of his rear end as he did so.

Roy took his customary seat, casually folded his arms, leaned back and waited to Ed to proceed with the strip show.

"I was just thinking, the moves that you've rejected from me for being 'too slow' and 'looks too much like you just want to dry hump me' aren't being given a fair shake. I am still for a modified quick-quick-slow routine; because honestly love, your looks are made for dance. But how is anyone going to admire you if they can't see you as you dash madly about the dance floor? This competition is more about technique than strength and endurance."

He shifted impatiently, waiting for Ed to start unbuttoning and unfastening his clothing.

"What does technique have to do with my looks?" said Ed, a guarded tone in his voice. His back to Roy, he flicked open shirt buttons rapidly, then shucked his button-down to the floor.

"Oh, I imagine that your looks lend to the technique. But we're missing the point ..."

And the point at the moment, truly, was the line of Ed's back. The musculature, the way his waist melded into the square of his hip. The way his golden hair hung in a line down his spine as it was still tied in a ponytail. And Roy didn't realize he'd stopped speaking, too caught up in his internal point, the point where Ed was beautiful. He let out a little sigh, which brought him back to where his mind was supposed to be and of course, by now, Ed had half turned to look at him.

"...and that point is," he tried to continue, as if that brief silence wasn't really his mental check list in the things he enjoyed most at an Elric strip show, "we should really make an effort to at least be _somewhat_ traditional. I know you love your innovation, but the judges are going to expect at least some demonstration that the knowledge of the actual tango is there."

Ed turned fully to look at Roy, his attention caught. "Okay," he nodded, "Okay. You may actually have a point. So, what d'you reckon is the minimum amount of actual tango we have to throw in there to butter up the judges?"

"Oh," Roy said with a shrug of his shoulders, his eyes trailing from Ed's collarbone, down each curve of muscle of his abs to the flat of his stomach and the barest hint of blond curls below his navel... "I'd think at least, minimally, we should perform the tango at the beginning of your gymnastics demonstration. At the very least."

"A whole tango?" Ed's eyebrows raised. "That doesn't seem very minimal." His hands moved to the fly of his pants, and Roy's eyes followed. "Look, the contest's three days away. I admit you were right about me learning to tango so we can incorporate some moves into our routine, fine, we did that. Why don't we just, you know, add a couple more tango moves to what we've got?"

Even after weeks of practice and a great number of books of the art of ballroom dancing, Ed still saw a routine as a merely collection of 'moves' and 'stances'. Roy was halfway through thinking up a response about dance being more than the sum of its parts when Ed stepped out of his pants and boxers.

This was the part where Roy truly used all his skill at being sexually poker-faced. This was the moment before the moment of glory when all of this, all that was Ed, every inch of his perfect being stood before him as nature intended him; as his mother presented him.

Nothing in Roy's view of existence would ever come close in comparison to his lover naked. It was just fact.

The glory of teaching Ed to tango lay in actually getting Ed to allow Roy to move against him in a place other than their bed. Getting Ed to stretch and flex, that lean and strong line of him molded to Roy's own body. Ed's chest against his chest (more or less, there was a bit of a height issue, but Roy, long accustomed to those conversations, knew better than to raise it) and Ed's body moving with Roy's own body in a sway to rhythmic music. It was hypnotic, even for Edward himself. There had been lessons that had been cut short for the very reason that stood in front of him now. Because Ed was sensual. Despite his protests, despite his mouth, despite everything to the contrary, and no matter how Ed tried to deny and deviate from that fact: there was no escaping it.

Roy was going to have many fond memories of the tango lessons which had gone awry, and the urges that had overcome them both until they had screwed in the back seat of the car, right out in the parking lot in front of the rental space they used for practice. The tango was a force to be reckoned with; and if Roy could get Ed to present that side of himself to the judge, the tango masters of the world would tremble. Edward Elric was above and beyond in everything he set out to do; he was undeniable.

And he was naked within touching distance of Roy's own hand; but Roy knew if he reacted now, if he moved to touch what was so temptingly within his reach, then Ed would figure out why Roy was in the bathroom almost every time he took a bath.

And Roy couldn't have that. So instead he cleared his throat and gave Ed a flat look.

"I don't see that as wholly feasible, since your moves have nothing to do with the actual tango itself," he stated.

Ed gave him a narrow look. "We've been over this; it's too late now. We can tweak a couple of moves in our final rehearsals, but that's all."

They were at an impasse: the same one they'd been at all through their rehearsals, or as Roy liked to think of them, torture sessions.

The bath was full now. Ed bent over to test the water's temperature, his bare ass wiggling in front of Roy's face.

Roy found himself leaning forward slightly, lips puckering a bit, but when Ed straightened back up he jerked back to his original seated position.

"I rather thought that would be your response, just bear in mind when we lose on some technicality - which you know Al will be perfection on - it will be your fault. I'm just saying," and he tilted his head slightly and thought about saying other things.

Things that had to do with where he wanted to put his mouth and his hands, and ultimately, his cock. He crossed his legs hard.

At mention of Al's name, Ed gave Roy a slow, considering look. For a moment it seemed as if he might be chewing it over. Then he just said, "We'll see."

Ed pulled the tie from his hair and then retied it, looped into a high topknot. Silly as it was, Roy always found this look absurdly sexy on Ed. Something about the way it exposed the nape of his neck, and how the odd gold strand would escape the tie to cling damply to the lines of his shoulders ... Roy should never attempt to have serious conversations with Ed when he was naked, it was just too hard to stay on-topic.

Ed stepped into the tub, rolling his shoulders, sitting, and finally leaning back with a sigh.

"Fair enough," Roy managed. Then he spent several moments schooling himself and trying not to be obvious about watching Ed being wet.

"You keep flexing your shoulders. Are they tight? Want me to rub them?" and he hoped that didn't sound too hopeful.

Ed nodded slightly and made a low, affirmative noise. He leaned forward in the tub a bit.

Roy stood slowly, hoping his evident arousal remained unnoticed, and started to unbutton his own shirt.

"It would be easier for me to really give you a good shoulder rub if I got in the tub with you," and Roy shucked his shirt, letting it fall to lie on top of Ed's where it already lay on the floor, and started on his pants. Those too, along with his boxers, soon lay in a heap and he stepped quickly in the tub, getting behind Ed to still keep his excited state secret. He leaned down a moment to put his hands on Ed's shoulders and push him forward a little, before settling into the tub behind him. Without pause, he immediately dug his thumbs into Ed's back, just above his shoulder blades, and began to move them in a circular motion.

"Better?" he whispered, leaning forward to lip at Ed's ear.

Ed just grunted and pushed his shoulders back against Roy's fingers, his head bowed.

The hazard, of course, was that if Roy pulled Ed back against his chest, like he was longing to do, Ed would realize what had prompted this back rub. But then again, maybe Ed would be receptive to that and then Roy could press his rather achy and hot erection against Ed's lower back, and that would be bliss. They could rock a bit then, that would be more bliss. Then they could have a discussion about Ed sitting in his lap.

Roy let go a low sigh and without realizing it, began to tongue and nibble the back of Ed's exposed neck.

Ed tutted softly, but he rolled his head to one side, offering his neck, and Roy heard his breathing begin to deepen.

So, Ed was being receptive. He would chance it then. He put an arm around Ed, slid him back between Roy's legs and leaned into him a bit. He still had his grip on Ed's shoulders, kneading and rubbing, but now he canted his hips forward a bit and pressed his needy cock right along side of Ed's spine just above the small of his back. His mouth grew bolder, he turned his head to get at the side of Ed's neck and he waited to see if Ed was going to grunt and elbow him off, or, hopefully, respond to Roy's invitation.

Ed made a soft, creaky, happy sound in his throat. "This is nice," he muttered. His eyes were closed. Roy felt Ed's butt cheeks flexing a bit, and then Ed pushed back against him.

Well, that answered the question of Ed's level of interest. Relaxed, his mood seemed to be shifting, as it sometimes did, from driven obsession to affection and horniness.

Roy purred happily, let one hand slip off of Ed's shoulder and slide down Ed's chest and stomach with no stopping in sight. He began to rock a little, to press himself against Ed's back and suck a little at the juncture where Ed's neck met Ed's shoulder. His fingers moved over the slightly coarse blond curls in Ed's lap and then down to confirm if Ed himself was taking this to the next step. A small smile when he found Ed was; Roy wrapped his fingers around Ed lightly, the pad of his thumb pressed the foreskin over the head of Ed's cock back and forth slowly.

Ed groaned, and his head flopped onto Roy's shoulder. His eyes were still closed, and he was smiling widely and deliciously now. "Yeah," he muttered, "that's what I'm talking about." Roy didn't point out that in fact, he'd been talking about something else entirely.

Actually, it was probably beneficial at this point not to bring up anything else at all; unless of course it was to expound on Ed's many naked and wet virtues. He let his other hand slide off Ed's shoulder now, follow the trail the first hand had taken but with a detour to the inside of Ed's thigh and then lower to cup his balls. He squirmed his way closer, to be molded to Ed's back and he ground with his hips.

See? Roy Mustang knew the definition of bliss. The next steps would be the most involved: the lube discussion, the lube is water-soluble discussion, the can't we just fuck on the bathroom mat no the tile hurts my knees discussion.

So many variables, and what did they matter when Ed was here and naked and wet and hard? They didn't matter at all.

Ed nosed Roy's jaw line; his breath was hot on Roy's neck. "So," he said, "logistics. The way I see it, we better work them out now before we're too far gone to care and one of us - well, you - ends up getting some kind of sex injury."

Ed was talking. He really did have a lovely, husky voice when he was aroused and Roy thought vaguely he should be paying attention. And well, he _was_ paying attention and his attentions to what he was paying should be enough. Why did Ed feel the need to be verbal when there was all this physical conversation to be had? He just grunted affirmatively, whatever Ed wanted, that was fine with him. He kept his efforts steady and firm.

"Ehm," he managed. There, that was verbal, that should satisfy Ed.

Then Ed turned in his arms and what, why was he moving _away_ from Roy's hands? Ed flipped himself around to face Roy. "Right," he said, poking a metal finger in Roy's chest. "I can see I gotta be the decision maker here. Mustang, you can either stay here and the most you're getting is a blow job, or you can get in the bedroom with me and have whatever you like."

His face was flushed and damp with sweat and steam, and his body was pressed to Roy's, and Roy found it really surprisingly hard to make simple decisions.

He found it hard to breathe, even. He made a few aborted grabs at Ed as his lust soaked brain tried to sort out this decision.

A blow job sounded marvelous, and he could put his legs up over the side of the tub and he'd get to hear all of Ed's noises and watch Ed's butt wiggle ... but then again, he could have that butt wiggling against his lower belly. He groaned in agonizing indecision.

Ed kept watching him, the corner of one blond eyebrow arched up a tad and then Ed made the decision easy. He reached down between Roy's legs and gripped his cock and squeezed and he said: "If it's all the same to you, how about we practice some of the dance moves on the way to the bedroom?"

And Ed got out of the tub and Roy sat there a moment, bereft at his sudden lack of Ed and then slid a little climbing out to follow him. Ed looked him up and down once, gave a rare smirk and held out a hand. When Roy took it Ed pulled him close and turned them toward the bathroom door.

"Quick, quick, slow, wasn't it?" he said with a grin and they took their first step out into the hallway.

Roy vaguely remembered this from their previous tango lessons: for all it looked like the dancers of a good tango were five seconds away from having sex, it could not be comfortably performed with a raging hard-on.

It was just his luck that now - when he finally had a receptive Ed in his arms, humming the rhythm into his ear, ready to follow his lead - he was completely unable to do more than tap out the beat against Ed's waist, while he tried to shuffle them towards the bedroom.

"Something," Ed muttered, trying to wrap his leg around Roy's hip while Roy attempted to guide them through the bedroom door, "there's something about that rhythm. Or maybe it's you, I dunno."

Roy replied by backing Ed into the doorframe and proceeding to hump him. Ed replied by giving a loud snort and a hard push and trying to get Roy back into position to tango. Why Ed suddenly cared about the tango, when just five minutes previous he'd given Roy a 'we'll see' about it, was beyond Roy at the this moment. At this moment, Roy didn't care about the tango and it was annoying that Ed did.

"Let's just get in the bed," Roy growled and tugged at his hands.

"NO, hang on, look this tango mess was your idea anyways, come on quit trying to poke your dick in my navel; quick, quick, slow! We're almost there!" Ed groused.

"This is impossible, look at my cock! Does that look like a willing dance partner to you? Ok maybe that could metaphorically be a yes, but in reality it's not a yes. The reality of this situation is the irony that I get you to care when I care least! Fuck, will I ever figure out how to be in sync with you?"

Then Ed smacked Roy's cock when Roy tried to poke him with it again.

"FUCK, that was uncalled for ..." Roy got out before Ed forcibly yanked him back into position and tried to tango him toward the bed.

Roy's knees hit the back of the bed, and then he was on his back and Ed was on top of him. His cool right hand slipped into Roy's and held it out at an angle, his left hand curled around Roy's shoulder. Ed hooked his leg over Roy's hip, his other leg stretched out straight, pressed against Roy's, and his cock nudged the side of Roy's cock, which, having a short attention span, instantly forgave Ed for the slap. "Quick, quick, slow," Ed muttered again, moving his hips to music which wasn't playing, but which they could somehow both hear.

"Now we turn," Roy muttered and rolled them, putting Ed on his back, keeping their hands in position, their hips pressed together. They moved as one here, but then again, they always did; if only there was some way to work this into their routine. But what did he care for routine right now? Right now he had Edward, beneath him, naked, smelling of soap. Right now that was all that mattered.

He had their hips together, the slide of skin on skin, Ed's cock still sliding into the side of his own at each undulation. He took Ed's mouth, his breathy sounds and swallowed them down. His hands moved to lace fingers, not merely hold hands and Ed opened for him, spread and arched.

It was more than a sane man could bear. When Roy lifted his mouth away so they could both breathe, Ed reminded him again.

"Quick, quick, slow," Ed urged, panting lightly now, his own fingers tightening over Roy's. "I think I finally see the metaphor here," Ed concluded, licking his lips. "So let's get on with it."

Roy nodded, he gave two, quick, hard thrusts and then a slow grind against Ed's hips and then they both groaned.

It was nearly unbearable to pull his hands and hips from Ed's for a moment, to reach for the little bottle on the nightstand, but somehow Roy managed it. Ed gave him a frustrated growl, but quietened immediately when he saw what Roy was doing. One knee pulled up against his chest, Ed lay with his chest heaving and his hair coming out of its knot. Roy thrust and curled one finger inside him, and then two, while his other hand tapped the rhythm out on Ed's thigh, _quick-quick-slow_ , _quick-quick-slow_.

Roy usually made a point of savoring the anticipation at times like this, but still, when he slid inside of Ed, the relief was so delicious that he almost sobbed out loud.

Ed provided his own accompaniment to the moment, he did sob out loud, his hands slapped Roy's shoulders, his body rustled the sheets on the bed as he writhed. This _was_ a dance, he understood; each move was choreographed, for every action there was a counter-measure.

And here, with Roy, he was good at it, he knew the steps. He reached back now, to brace his hands on the headboard, to use it as leverage to push back against Roy. They both raised their voices as one and the tempo, starting out as quick-quick-slow began to move beyond that; it became innovation, Ed's forte.

Ed's spine began to arch, his head to tip back and grind into the pillow. Roy knew his cues well by now; his next move was to reach down and grip Ed's cock, and at the same time to lean back a little, putting his other hand behind Ed's knee. Ed responded without dropping the beat: he threw his hands out to either side, fisted them in the comforter, and let Roy hear him howl.

Music, a symphonic harmony as old as nature and as primal as evolution itself. The human voice raised in adoration, exhalation and emotion. In these moments of rawness where this act made them one, these sounds were as much agony as ecstasy and Roy could not help but respond.

He raised his voice along with Ed, his control shattering and his movement moving to a frantic pitch, a vibrato of lust; a pitch corresponding with Ed's vocal tremolo. And at the crest, at the crescendo, it carried him over and he leaned hard into Ed, panting harshly as his body shook.

Afterwards, after the requisite few moments of them both being utterly useless, Ed rearranged them, pushing Roy onto his back and crawling onto his chest to lie with his cheek there. Roy's hands found their way into Ed's hair, and he set about playing with it sleepily: he pushed Ed's sweaty bangs back from his face, pulled the tie out of Ed's hair, and began to finger-comb it.

Ed made happy rumbling noises and rubbed his cheek against Roy's pec, and all was absolutely right in the world. Then abruptly, Ed jerked his head up. He looked Roy in the eye, and he was grinning his head off. "I figured it out!" Ed wriggled triumphantly. "I think I just had some kind of post-orgasm brainstorm."

"Figured what out?"

"How we make sure we don't lose to Al and Riza on the technical stuff."

Roy looked up. He'd done it, hadn't he? He'd finally persuaded Ed to abandon his dangerous gymnastic routine for a true Tango. "Oh yes?" said Roy, schooling his face.

"We just have to make sure we're after Al and Riza in the line-up. That's it! We adjust our routine depending on what they do. If they go the traditional route, we can throw in a few more old school moves to cover that base with the judges." Ed grinned at him, apparently waiting for Roy to shower praise on his lateral thinking.

"And just how do we assure that?" Roy asked, settled comfortably under Ed, now running his fingers up and down Ed's back. "As far as I know that is a random assignment." His fingers drummed a little right on the crest of Ed's buttocks. "I think it might just be the luck of the draw. Besides, we can't rehearse new steps on the night of the competition just because you think Al has a leg up on you in technicality. I say it's better we be more tango-like from the start."

"Just use your influence," said Ed. "Aren't you supposed to be a general? Strategize. Manipulate. Plot. I hear you're good at all that stuff." He punctuated his point by flexing his butt cheeks under Roy's hands, and giving him a slightly hazy grin.

Roy gave a sigh, but ran his hands over Ed's butt cheeks anyways. For love of this man he would, of course, do his bidding. Even if he felt a bit dastardly about leaning on a charity dance committee board. Ed thought he was a bastard before they were a couple? No, it was Ed that brought out the true bastard in him.

"All right, all right, if that's what you want," and because he was conceding and going to be a bully for Ed's sake, he thought he should get kisses. And Ed was only too happy to reciprocate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Central City Charity Dance-off. Where Roy sees an opportunity to take his relationship with Ed public via a classy tango, Ed sees an exciting new venue for brotherly oneupmanship. Will Ed invent breakdancing several decades too early? Will Roy's back survive the experience? How itchy can Riza's trigger finger possibly get? Join us for an epic tale of determination, sweat and very frilly shirts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in [](http://sky-dark.livejournal.com/profile)[**sky_dark**](http://sky-dark.livejournal.com/)'s [Better Living Through Alchemy 'verse](http://sky-dark.livejournal.com/437937.html), which is a few years post-anime #1 and very, very AU on the ending.

  
  
Picture by the lovely Japanese doujinka Cucumis. This pic inspired us to write the fic!   


Roy tugged the cuffs of his black silk shirt. At first, this outfit had been rejected. Ed wasn't into silk, Roy was too slippery, it was too clingy, it made Ed think things he shouldn't think on a dance floor. This, of course, was the very reason Roy had argued energetically to be allowed to choose his own wardrobe. Look, he'd add a little vest for traction. Thinking those thoughts would be good for the dance. He looked good in black, he looked good in silk, and finally, he'd worn Ed down.

Of course after that had been the explosion about Ed's own outfit. Roy had insisted ruffles were sexy. Ed had said he didn't care about sexy, he didn't want to look like a ruffly banana. Then Roy had explained that the outfit was made with loving devotion by the children of Cretan tango masters in the hopes that one day a new master would come along to make them all look good.

Ed had called bullshit. Roy had turned on big wounded eyes _(at being called out on his bullshit, mostly)_.

Ed had then called bullshit on the big wounded eyes.

Roy had, amazingly, finally managed to win this particular argument. His winning move had been to reuse Ed's own justification of his garish red coat of fond memory. The outfits were, Roy argued, intended to motivate them, to get them in what Ed would probably refer to as 'the zone' and to remind them they were going to win. In all honesty, this argument sounded pretty ropey to Roy himself - but murmured into Ed's ear after a particularly devastating blow job, it had done the trick.

And now here he stood, primping in the dressing room mirror on competition day, a mere hour away from a dance routine that, likely as not, was going to result in him slipping a disc in front of most of Central's high society, about half the brass, and a good few newspaper reporters, some of whom seemed to have cameras. Truly, you couldn't win them all.

By now he'd nearly done all the "getting ready" he could get away with before his manic lover came looking for him, and was steeling himself for a bout with Ed's pre-performance jitters, when the perfect excuse to tarry a little longer came gliding toward him in aquamarine, trailing tendrils of chiffon behind her like seaweed underwater. He couldn't help but boggle a little at the effect; he'd seen Riza dress beautifully for military functions, but never anything quite like this. Her bemused smirk at his expression, though, was a familiar one.

"I'm seriously considering switching up partners," he told her with his own bemused smirk. "That is simply stunning, Riza, is Alphonse lying in a heap somewhere?"

Riza just responded with a shake of the head and her usual small, teasing smile. "Alphonse is," she admitted, "a little keyed up about the performance."

Roy gave a small laugh, moved over to get closer and looked around a moment.

"I would trade you a week of Alphonse being 'keyed up' for fifteen minutes with the blond blast furnace. He's set to explode," Roy looked around again. "You're lucky, you have the easy Elric and you know it."

Riza's lips twitched for a moment. She looked around herself, then said, her voice very slightly lowered, "Ordinarily - well, yes. But this whole business of the competition - or rather that he's competing against Edward … " She blew a forceful little breath out. "Confidentially, he's been driving me a little bit insane."

"I could offer you some advice, but I think it would be a bit harsh to practice on Alphonse," Roy commiserated. "Like foot stomping; Ed's used to it by now, but I think Al might take more offense. In some ways I have the easier Elric, as in he's less sensitive." Roy patted her arm.

Riza smiled. "I'm not so sure about that. But"- she sighed -"what gets into them with this spirit of competition? Ordinarily they'd defend each other to the hilt, but then something like this comes up and beating the other becomes obsessively important? I can't understand it, but then again I'm an only child."

"I don't think any siblings could possibly prepare you for Elrics," Roy returned, amused.

"ROY! If I'm gonna wear this damn frilly thing, the least you can do is help me with the damn zipper!!" The yelling was quickly followed by the angry stomping of dance shoes, one heavier than the other as always, and Roy briefly pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Speak of the devil. Break a leg, Riza."

Riza gave him a graceful smile, Roy nodded at her, and then he went to meet his fate.

***

"Do you think they do beer pitchers here?" asked Breda, glancing over to the bar.

Havoc followed his gaze. The bar in the corner of the dance hall was long and polished and expensive-looking. Behind it, a bartender with slicked hair and a bow tie was pouring something from a great height into a martini glass. Havoc couldn't see any beer pumps. "We might be out of luck," Havoc concluded. "You should go ask the bar guy in the penguin suit, though."

"This is the problem with high society, as a whole," Breda grumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants and rocking back and forth on the heels of his shoes. "It's too full of itself. I mean, come on, it's _dancing_ , like that makes any difference to anything. What is dancing without beer? At least then it might get interesting."

"It's a sport," Falman pointed out. "A sport which demands great technical skill from its participants. You wouldn't expect a gymnast to compete inebriated, would you?"

"Exactly my point," said Breda. "High society takes a thing that is fun, i.e. dancing, sucks all the fun out of it and turns it into a competitive sport. Like those two who were on last, they were dancing like they both had brooms up their asses."

"I thought they showed a lot of skill," said Falman sniffily.

"So!" said Havoc, hoping to change the subject. "Who are we betting on to win? Not that we're betting or that there's already a twenty cen pool or that Breda and I have already paid into it or anything."

Sarah came charging up then, huffing and hair slightly fluffed out as if she'd been running or something ( _which she probably had, knowing her and despite all her and Jean's 'discussions' on the subject of running up on and/or jumping on people_ ).

"There isn't any beer here," she said and looked accusingly at Jean. "But I took a little survey of the block and there is a bar about three doors down."

"I'm there," Breda said, "let's go."

"But we haven't even seen anyone we know dance yet," Havoc interjected and grabbed his wife's arm to keep her from latching onto Breda and then making off with him. "As soon as the General and the Boss dance, we'll get out of here, come on, I need some inner office ammo to tease the big guy with."

"It better be worth it," Sarah warned him, then she seem to switch up, like always. "You know, watching Blondie and Formerly Eye-Patch Sex rub on each other while dancing sounds kinda hot. I miss the eye-path sometimes," she lamented. “Something about a man with accessories is really hot.”

Havoc gave an eyebrow twitch.

"You know first I was kinda miffed that you didn't tell me she came home early and you'd be bringing her here," Breda told Havoc, "but then I was okay with it when I found out she was as ticked about there not being any beer as I was. I knew she'd find some, so it was getting ok, but _now_ you make her stay and she brings up that General and Ed stuff I don't wanna know about, so I'm back to being miffed again."

"Hey, look, I knew if I told you she got back in time to come you'd be all pissy, and you are, so it's a no win situation for me. The beer isn't my fault," and he directed that at both of them.

"I came back early as a surprise, I wanted to see if he was screwing around on me," Sarah interjected. "And he was, with you and I wanted my return to be a surprise to you too just so I could watch you scowl so I told him not to tell you and it worked. It's just a bummer I didn't get back in time to enter us into this shindig; we'd make them all look bad. Isn't that right?" And she grabbed Havoc by the ears while he was sputtering over the 'screwing around' comment, kissed him soundly and silenced any further protest.

Breda just rolled his eyes.

Fuery happened upon the scene by accident and ran into Breda when he closed his eyes as to not to intrude on Havoc and Sarah's private moment ( _in his mind, anyways. No matter how old Fuery got, he would always be about twelve_ ).

"Hey, watch it, it's not like they don't suck face at any given chance, you need to get used to it," Breda groused, giving Fuery a little shove back.

Sarah freed her mouth from Jean's long enough to add, "I like sucking face. Mainly I do it because Kain has the cutest blush."

Kain made the little whimpering sound he always made when confronted with human pheromones, and shuffled around behind Breda to use him as a shield.

"They need to get on with this already," Breda complained further, "so I can get my beer and go the hell home already."

But no one answered him. One of them was hiding, and the other two were trying to deflate each others’ lungs.

***

Al checked his bow tie and then ran a finger around the side of his stiff collar. _Okay,_ he thought to himself, _breathe slower. Nice and easy, we can do this._ He tried one of Teacher's breathing exercises: _cover one nostril up, breathe in for the count of three, cover the other nostril, breathe out for three. Okay, still nervous. Try again. Left nostril, one two three, right nostril, one, two -_

"You still do that nose thing?" said a very familiar voice behind him. "It never worked for me, I felt like too much of a dork."

"Well, maybe you should have stuck with it, back in the day," Al returned. "If you'd found a reliable way of calming yourself down, it certainly would have saved me a lot of time placating people's offended feelings while holding you back under one arm so you wouldn't charge at them."

"Some people needed to be charged at, you were just overly sensitive," Ed sniffed, he brushed at a ruffle on his shirt front and eyed Al's bow tie.

"So, uh, did you practice a lot?" Ed asked, not meeting Al's eyes and Al found that somewhat suspicious.

"What was required. Riza and I have a natural synchronicity, so it made most practice effortless," Al said, watching his brother shift.

"Well, are you going to try anything like ... creative? Or like stick to the same boring stuff as everyone else? I mean it would just bore the judges to sleep, right?" Ed still wasn't looking at him. In fact, Ed seemed to be counting the buttons on Al's vest.

"I'm pretty sure the judges award points on technical merit," Al started and he saw Ed visibly wince. Interesting.

"So," Ed started again, still looking fixedly at Al's buttons, "I guess you guys -" But he was interrupted by a burst of applause from the audience. He looked around, and then he finally met Al's gaze. As the audience continued to clap and shout their congratulations to whoever it was Al had to follow, Ed and Al exchanged nervous looks.

"Wow," said Ed. "Looks like they were pretty popular."

Al nodded stoically.

Ed looked down at the buttons again. "You guys will do good for sure," he said. "Great. I mean, you know." He dragged his gaze up. "Good luck."

And on that, competition or no competition, Al had an overpowering urge to hug him. After a moment, Ed returned the hug with his usual fierceness, as if he thought Al would vanish into smoke if he didn't hang on tight enough. And then Riza was gently tapping Al's elbow, and he parted from Ed, and took his wife's arm, and - oh crap, now it was time.

They walked onstage.

There was a moment, as they stepped out onto the floor amid scattered cheers and catcalls, when the lights blinded him and Al's ingrained fight-or-flight instinct grabbed hold. He certainly had no problem speaking in front of crowds, or dancing at military functions. This was an entirely different animal, though, and a cold flash of adrenaline through his limbs gave him a fraction of a second's pause.

But that was Riza's hand in his, tugging him along, and where she led, he trusted to follow. He fell into position easily once she was in his arms, and once the music started, muscle memory took over where poise in the spotlight might have lacked.

They were doing this the classical way: Al led. But really, he thought, as the waltz started to sweep them in slow, dizzy spirals across the stage, Riza was leading him, backwards and in heels, confident and sure. The gauze of her sleeves rose and fluttered as they whirled around the floor. One of his hands rested on the cool bare skin of her back; the other was held out. He hoped he wasn't sweating too much.

It was only after the first few moments, when he'd recovered a little from his nerves, that he realised that she was counting under her breath, eyes looking past him with that slight frown that was the vanishingly rare sign of Riza nervous. The last time he'd seen it had been when they stood up to take their wedding vows.

Al squeezed her hand, just a little. She looked into his eyes; and he looked back, into the lovely, deep brown eyes of the woman who'd married him. She smiled, just a little. He grinned back like a lunatic.

The rest of their dance went as smoothly as a dream.

***

  
"That's … Hawkeye," said Havoc, and took a reassuring chug on the whisky-and-something he was drinking as a poor substitute for beer.

"Certainly looks that way," said Breda. His mouth was hanging open. He stuffed a couple of peanuts into it.

"Wow," said Havoc. Then he realised, that, whoops, he was sitting right next to his gorgeous wife. "Sorry," he tried.

Sarah snorted. “Like I give a flip. You really think, for even one moment, that think you just had in your imagination would go anywhere? PUHlease. You'd be dead and I'd be living on military benefits, which by the way, aren't that hot, so don't get killed by one of your superiors, okay? Besides it just looks bad on me, like I couldn't control you or something.”

Breda looked at Havoc, who was working his jaw and not saying anything because Breda knew that Havoc knew better than to say anything.

“But I can, like, have dirty fantasies about her, no matter how brief?” Breda asked Sarah.

“EW, poor Hawkeye, keep her out of your stinkin' head,” Sarah cried.

***

Roy watched Ed watch the stage. He shifted a bit, as if mimicking a step or two. His lips moved and his hands clenched and unclenched. He caught Roy looking at him and did his best to scowl, but it didn't seem quite right and he looked away again before Roy could question it.

It wasn't that Edward Elric was never frightened. There were many times in his short years that Roy was sure fear was what kept him alert, sharp and strong.

But it was something else to see Ed terrified. He kept moving as if he couldn't hold still, his eyes darted from his brother and sister-in-law on the dance floor to the audience. Then every now and again to Roy, and he quickly tried to hide it, these little glimpses for reassurance; these little checks to make sure he wasn't about to face this alone.

Roy moved just behind Ed's shoulder, leaned down close to Ed's ear.

"This outfit makes your ass look fantastic," Roy murmured to him and lipped the edge of his ear and that earned a true scowl and he watched Ed give himself a shake.

"You better not put your hands on it in front of the creme of Amestrian society, either," Ed hissed back at him, trying to wave him off.

"But I'm a mere mortal and you are a god, what am I to do?" Roy lamented.

"Stoppit, why do you always pull this shit when something important is going down?" Ed hissed further, looking more at ease than he had all evening.

"it's a nod to your charms," Roy assured him, grinning.

And it was, but was also a nod to Roy's own abilities to calm a frightened Elric.

"Rolling Pin Dip,” muttered Ed, nodding to himself.

"I'm sorry?"

"The Rolling Pin Dip!" Ed craned his head around to look at Roy, eyebrows twitching a bit. "Al and Riza's dance incorporated more lifts than I was expecting - well, than you made out there would be - so we should respond by adding in some of the tougher lifts the spots where I wanted to. The Rolling Pin Dip would totally add that in. You see, I was right to make you practice it!"

Roy blinked. _It's not like a chemical formula_ , he wanted to say, but that was the same argument they'd been having for weeks - and here was Ed closer to panic than Roy had ever seen him, muttering under his breath. Roy wrapped his arms around Ed and kissed him behind the ear. "It's fine," he said, dropping his voice a bit in that way that always seemed to soothe Ed. "After everything you've been through - come on, love, this is nothing."

"No - it's - " and Ed seemed to twitch all over and then he stopped short, leaving Roy to parse his meaning. Was it competing against Al (prodigy, second self, center of Ed's universe)? Was it dancing in public (because a small but significant part of Ed remained forever a virginal teenage prude)? Was it dancing with _Roy_ in public (because they'd never done that, and because they were shielded by the love and acceptance of their immediate circle, and because really, really, Roy himself didn't quite know what would happen)?

"It's okay," said Roy again. Because - because Ed needed to hear that it was okay, which was the same thing as saying that Roy would do everything to make it okay.

"Yes," said Ed, distractedly, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Only - do we add in the Rolling Pin Dip straight on after that back flip? Or maybe about a minute before, you know, you know just after we -"

"You're on," said a voice nearby, and then a small hand had each of them by the elbow, and the stage manager was walking them onto the stage - or maybe it had already happened. All Roy knew was, that a spotlight was on them, there were dim shapes moving out there in the audience - and that his lover had frozen, mouth open, staring out at the audience. He didn't even seem to be breathing.

Roy had never, despite everything Edward Elric had faced, seen him panic before.

So, this was what it looked like.

Automail fingers clamped down around his own, so tightly that Roy would swear he could hear his knuckles creaking. He tugged once, then again, but Ed was as motionless as a deer in headlights, so Roy moved close to block his view of the lights and the crowd with his own body.

"Roy, Roy, I can't remember how it starts, what's the first move, _Roy_ \--" Ed hissed, eyes unfocused.

A recalcitrant Ed, Roy knew how to deal with. An angry Ed, a moping Ed, a stubborn Ed--these were all familiar. But a stage-fright-stricken Ed? There simply wasn't time to coax him out of his panic and into the routine they'd practiced. At the side of the stage, a bored-looking teenager in charge of the phonograph was setting the needle in place; at the first strains of their piece, Ed gave a full-body twitch like a startled rabbit.

Luckily, Roy Mustang was a man who could think on his feet.

"Just follow me," he murmured, quickly tugging open the buttons of his shirt. Ed blinked at his suddenly bared chest, then up at his face, and Roy pressed closer, touching their foreheads together. "Don't take your eyes off me, Edward. _Trust_ me."

After a tense fraction of a moment, Ed gave one sharp nod, his flesh hand snaking up around the back of Roy's neck.

There wasn't a moment more to lose as the music's slow introduction slid into an energetic tempo; Roy spun, and Ed spun with him, instincts and natural Elric grace taking over. There was a chorus of catcalls from the crowd, and Ed flushed, but stuck close and didn't break their gaze.

Roy lunged low, sliding a leg out to catch Ed's beneath it, pressing nose to nose so that Ed arched back over Roy's arm. The crowd had gone quiet now. Very suddenly, Roy felt a pang of terror. So everyone in Central already knew, he’d told himself. He and Ed could take their relationship public without fuss. But this – he’d just taken their dance beyond anything that could be explained away as an amusing act for a charity competition. Now everyone in Central _really_ knew, beyond denial or dismissal. What if Roy had made a dreadful mistake? What if it wasn’t all right after all?

But – there was no time for that now. Ed was in his arms, and Roy – literally - couldn’t let him down. The flush spread across Ed's nose and cheeks and down his throat, and suddenly everything condensed down to Ed's eyes, widening dark pupils ringed with gold, eclipses drawing Roy in.

In each others’ arms, backs upright, they danced rapidly across the stage. Roy could see the concentration on Ed’s face, but the panic was leaving him now he had a focus. His footwork was magnificent. As the music reached a moment of tension, Ed’s leg snapped up to curve around his hip – and Roy turned, braced an arm under his leg, gave Ed the quickest of looks – and then raised Ed up in a single high, elegant lift.

There was a whistle from the crowd – Roy felt Ed’s muscles tense incrementally – and then a scatter of unmistakable cheers. Roy swung Ed down again, his arm muscles panging with the effort – and he saw that Ed was smiling now. Roy smiled back. The tempo of the song shifted, picked up speed – and together they took their cue, and moved.

Whole minutes later they came to a stop, Ed's flesh leg curled around Roy's waist and the automail looped over Roy's trembling thigh, both of them panting with effort, fitted snugly chest to chest.

Behind them, around them, a million miles away, the crowd roared: whooping, cheering, applauding thunderously. And Ed - grinned like the sunrise bursting over the horizon, touched his nose to Roy's, and kissed him.

***

Head pillowed on his folded arms, Roy made an appreciative little noise. Straddling his back, just visible from the corner of Roy’s eye, Ed wet his left hand with more ligament oil, relocated the knot of tight muscle behind Roy’s shoulder blade, pressed, rubbed, and at length applied an automail elbow. Roy made a painful groaning noise.

“Good or bad?” said Ed, leaning cautiously forward.

“Good,” Roy replied, a little strained. Ed gave good massages, but – well – vigorous. “Carry on.”

“You know,” said Ed, elbowing Roy’s back some more, “some people would say you were really milking this for all it’s worth.”

“Some people,” Roy mumbled into his folded arms, “would have some appreciation for a spouse who – oooh - wrecked his back in the pursuit of charity dance competition glory yesterday.”

“You’re not wrecked,” Ed said. “You’re just kind of tense. You should try some stretches.” He moved his hands up to Roy’s shoulders and started to knead with his thumbs. Roy felt a knot of muscle by his shoulder blade crunch under Ed’s automail thumb. He winced and then sighed in satisfaction, hoping Ed hadn’t taken any bone with it.

“Oh no,” said Roy. “I’m not – mmm – going anywhere near any form of physical exercise for at least a month. I plan spend all my spare time lying – aaahhh - on this couch, with R.D. and possibly with you, listening to the phonograph and catching up on all that sleep I missed when we were getting up at six to practice.”

Ed went to stretch on his back then, but stopped short. Roy could guess – Ed had some thing about not liking the smell of ligament oil. Instead he sat back on Roy's rump with his own.

"I can't believe we didn't win it," he half-grumbled.

This was Ed's competitive streak talking.

"At least Al didn't win it, either."

This was Ed's competitive to the death streak with his little brother talking.

"It wasn't like we didn't give it a good showing," Roy said, craning his neck around to meet Ed’s eye. "I just think the field was really tight. Everyone was on top of their game."

Ed folded his arms, careful not to touch himself with his still one ligament oiled hand.

"Okay,” Ed said, a note of tension creeping into his voice, “you get to hear this from me once, so listen good. I know I fucked that up, with whatever that was that happened ..."

"Stage fright," Roy supplied.

"Let me finish! Whatever! It's never happened before and I don't know why it happened then, I mean, for fuck's sake, I'm used to making a spectacle of myself ..."

"I can attest I was surprised," Roy offered.

"In a minute! So yeah, all that time in practice, all those fucking fancy moves, wasted! And when will I get to show them off again? Never. I think something in my brain came unhinged if you want my honest opinion. I mean I kissed you like ... in front of everyone ..."

"That was lovely," Roy sighed.

"Shut up perv, I mean ... I mean ... well I don't know what I mean now. At least it's over," Ed finished, shoving his hands in his armpits, apparently forgetting one of them was ligament oil coated.

“I’ll tell you one thing, though,” Roy offered. “You seem to have been right that classical moves weren’t all the judges were after. I swear some of the moves Major Armstrong and his little sister pulled defied the laws of physics, let alone the rules of ballroom dancing.” Roy flexed his butt with Ed’s butt sitting on it, which was very nice, and gave him ideas, and he hoped might give Ed ideas too.

“I can’t believe they won,” Ed sighed. “I mean, it was impressive, and all, but that dance was just weird.”

“I quite enjoyed watching Havoc try to hide under the table when Catherine Armstrong walked on stage.”

“Didn’t they date or something about a million years ago?” Ed wriggled a bit on top of Roy. Roy enjoyed it.

“He still won’t tell me what happened. I really need to worm that out of him somehow.”

Ed shifted again, snorted.

"Why the fuck do you keep flexing your butt? Trying to trap my balls between your butt cheeks?" Ed groused.

"Do you really think that's possible?" Roy asked with a tone of lust-baited wonder, "Imagine the possibilities."

"Imagine my foot up your ass, but you might like that you perv job. I can't believe I kissed you in front of a fuckton of people. There weren't any camera flashes or anything, were there? The whole experience is a blur. I can claim temporary dementia or something. Maybe food poisoning - or you looked like you were about to pass out so I was giving you mouth to mouth. Fuck. There better not be any pictures." Ed sighed.

Roy kept flexing his butt cheeks, still intrigued by Ed's off-handed idea.

"I don't know what you are so put out about it," Roy said and sniffed when Ed scooted back some to sit more on Roy's thighs, perhaps fearing a pinch of his balls. "We are gorgeous. I think I saw swooning. We are tight and sexy and young and dynamic. I hope we have a picture on the front page center of the social section of the paper, that's what I hope. Then I can show you off like the fine piece of ass you are and everyone will be jealous." Roy sighed a little at his fantasy. "Then I can campaign for same sex marriage and by the sheer force of our incredible magnetism on the dance floor, we'd manage to get it adopted into law. Then my love, I will wed you properly and have a big drunken celebration to attest to the fact I've survived you all these years. It's a miracle of love, everyone should know it."

"Did you slip and fall and hit your head without me knowing?" Ed asked from the area of Roy's back. "What the fuck are you going on about? I don't know if competition is good for you, it makes you funny in the head. Besides, you proposed to me before, remember? I said yes. There, we're married, that's all the married we need." Ed folded his arms then and Roy would have bet anything that he was studying the crack in the ceiling he always studied when he thought he said something remotely sentimental. It didn't matter that Roy would have to turn his head almost an entire 180 degrees to see him. The crack was just fascinating.

"But I didn't get to walk you down an aisle, or give you a big reception," Roy said, voice a little more subdued now.

"What does that matter? You said 'I do', I saw you do it and we're still here and still together and still alive, just like you said. We survived. What does it take to be married, why do you need someone else’s word? I say we're married, you and me, and I'll fuck up whoever says different. How about that? HEY, that was romantic wasn't it?" Ed sounded pleased with himself. "I whipped out the romantic on you! You can't say I don't say romantic things ever again."

"No, I can't, you're right," Roy said, voice going warm, and Ed squirmed around on his perch on the back of Roy's thighs. "I think I like your version of married more than the state’s," and Roy pushed up then, turned his head some to peer at Ed over his shoulder. "You're all that matters, in the end."

"Damn straight," Ed said, really scrutinizing the crack.

"But you can't deny a man bragging rights," Roy continued. "And I love being in the paper. If we are, I'm going to buy a lot of copies and hand them out as if they were our wedding announcement."

"I think my being romantic has unhinged you even more than you were unhinged before," Ed growled.

"Edward Elric-Mustang," Roy sighed.

"The fuck, it's Mustang-Elric, dickhead," Ed snapped, "I mean it's just Elric! Stoppit, you're making me do it now!"

Roy did manage to roll then, onto his back, and Ed did an amazing job of leg work and kept his seat. He was sitting on the front of Roy's thighs now and looking put out about the situation. Roy grinned at him, and Ed put his nose in the air and worked his jaw.

"Just ... just so you know, I'd be okay with that," Ed said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "with the hyphenated name thing. Only I want to keep my last name as the last name in it, you can do the Elric-Mustang version if you want."

"Can I pick our anniversary?" Roy asked, entranced.

"Sure, I don't care, whatever," Ed said, cheeks flushed, still not looking at Roy. "Only you know, make it in the summer so you can take me to the beach. I like the beach, so if you want to have an official anniversary, then do that. Whatever, I don't care, whatever." There was a lot of tucking of hands in armpits and shrugging of shoulders from Ed now.

"Can I buy you a ring?" Roy pressed, reaching for Ed, trying to get hold of his arms, to pull him close.

"If you gotta," Ed huffed, letting himself be grabbed and pulled, lying down on Roy's chest.

Roy held him, rubbed his back and made all these little pleased noises, and Ed kept his face hidden, mostly in his hair and listened to Roy's heart beat where his ear was pressed against Roy's chest.

"Can I buy you a ring?" Ed finally ventured. "So you know, everyone knows I gotta ring, you gotta ring, it's a permanent thing and stuff. And... and so, you know, if someone is jealous and asks you can say you know, I gotta ring..."

"I like platinum," Roy purred, "maybe with a diamond or two, you don't have to be extravagant."

"Good, because I can't on a teacher's salary," Ed snorted. He poked Roy in the ribs a little. "So I'm an honest man now."

"You weren't honest before?" Roy asked. "I'm stunned. This is a whole new side of you I didn't know. What haven't you been honest about? I should have asked for a pre-nup."

Ed poked him harder in the ribs and Roy half-yelped and there was a brief rolling about on the couch that almost landed them both on the floor. Ed had his wrists now. Roy was happy to let him have them, and he decided to show him how happy by flexing his hips up into Ed’s.

"You want honest, eh? I'll give you honest! You're honestly a bastard!" Ed informed him. "And I'm married to you! I'll give you a pre-nup alright, there is only one condition on it, the condition where I let you live!" He pushed his weight further down on Roy, crowding him.

"Oh is that your only condition?" Roy asked, grinning madly, "I'm getting off easy! My condition is we live happily ever after, think you can handle that?"

"If you can dish it, I can handle it. Welcome to the rest of your life, bastard!"

There was more wrestling, then Ed's lips found Roy's and there was a settling. And as Roy lay there, everything in his life perfect, he knew he'd always dance to Edward's tempo.

 _Quick, quick, slow._


End file.
